“Habibi.”
He turned and saw her standing farther down the corridor, holding a lantern that glowed with the same garish light as the candles in the sconces. She gestured him forward, a soft smile on her face. “Follow me.”
He stepped forward. “Where are you going?”
But Shafia did not answer. She turned and walked away, and the flames in the sconces flickered and died as she passed them. Darkness nipped at Mazen’s heels. Inconsequential, it whispered. He shrank away from it and chased after his mother.
His heartbeat drummed in his ears and throbbed behind his eyes. He was vaguely aware of the sudden heaviness of his body and the strange pressure building in his head. He felt the iron rings, too hot and tight on his fingers—and then nothing. Every time he blinked, his mind grew foggier, until it was empty of everything save for a gentle humming. The corridor ceased to exist. There was just his mother, singing a song beneath her breath.
“The stars, they burn the night
And guide the sheikh’s way…”
Mazen did not recognize the lyrics, yet he found himself humming along with his eyes half-closed, relishing the strange feeling of nostalgia that washed over him.
They passed through chambers that flourished before his eyes. One moment they were filled with cobwebs and dirt, and the next, elaborate tapestries stretched across the walls and rich rugs unrolled beneath their feet. They entered what appeared to be a diwan, where skeletons sat hunched over cups filled with beetles. But as Mazen passed, the skeletons became living people who raised their cups to him and cried, “Savior! Savior!”
More than a few times he wondered if he ought to voice his concerns. What am I saving you from? he wanted to ask. Or perhaps, How are you alive, uma? But the urge faded every time his mother sang.
The song was still echoing in his mind long after she stopped, still numbing his thoughts, when his mother spoke into the quiet. “Do you know the story of the Queen of Dunes, Mazen?”
Mazen heard her words but for some reason was unable to grasp their meaning. He smiled, hoping it was the appropriate response.
His mother smiled back. It was the same bright smile she’d always worn, the one that made dimples appear at the corners of her mouth. “She can make all of your wishes come true. Even the impossible ones.” She paused at the bottom of a staircase that spiraled up into a dark tower. She mounted the rickety wooden stairs. “But all wishes have a price,” she continued. “The queen will make a request of you. You must accept before she will give you your heart’s desire.”
If you wish it, I can even raise the dead. A deep but gentle voice caressed his mind.
Mazen’s heart lurched at the sound of it. His vision blurred and his mother vanished. In her place was a gangly pale creature with long limbs and gaping holes for eye sockets. It spoke to him in his mother’s voice. “You’ll help me, won’t you, Mazen?”
Mazen opened his mouth—to gasp, to scream—but then the humming began again and smoothed his fears away. The creature disappeared, and it was once again his mother standing before him, brows scrunched with concern.
Of course I’ll help you, uma.
She beamed. “I knew I could count on you, Mazen.”
He blinked, not realizing he’d said the words aloud. But he supposed it didn’t matter. His mother had always been good at deciphering his expressions—
He stopped. He’d forgotten he was in Omar’s body. How did his mother…
“We’ve arrived.” She gestured ahead, to a set of bronze doors at the stair landing. “Remember what I said. Nothing sacrificed, nothing gained.”
Mazen hesitated. That strange fogginess was invading his mind again, making it impossible for him to grasp his thoughts. But then his mother set a hand on his shoulder, and his focus shattered completely. “Have faith, Mazen.” Her words were soft, a conspiratorial whisper. “Not everything that is stolen from us must remain so.”
Mazen turned away. He breathed in. And then he slowly approached the doors.
He knew all about loss. He had lost his mother. He had lost his freedom. Now he had even lost his identity.
I can bring her back, the humming voice said in his mind. I can bring back your mother.
The doors opened into a circular chamber lit by fading torchlight. A deft wind blew through cracks in the decrepit walls, ruffling maroon-colored drapes. Save for the rustling, the space was disconcertingly quiet. An empty circular chamber made up of cracked walls.
And then Mazen heard a crunch as he stepped into the room.
He looked down and saw bones on the tiled floor. He recognized, vaguely, that this discovery ought to be upsetting. That it was probably cause for concern. But he did not have time to worry, so he tucked the realization away to be evaluated at a later time and continued toward a stone dais rising above the sea of bones. Sitting atop the dais was a circlet—a ring of intricately carved golden skulls. Some distant part of him wondered why he gravitated toward it, but he did not allow himself to linger on the thought, for he knew this circlet would make his wishes come true. He had only to possess it and…
Then I will be queen once more.
Mazen began to hum as he stepped up to the dais. The bones whispered as he reached for the crown. Queen, queen, queen. The word pulsed through his body. Through his fingertips.
He grasped the circlet of bones.
23
LOULIE
Sweet Fire? Wake up, Sweet Fire.
It was as if the world had been reduced to black ash.
Loulie! Lou-Lou-Loulie!
Loulie startled. “Baba?” No one else used that ridiculous call except for her father. She groggily searched the darkness for him.
I am here, Sweet Fire.
The strange darkness abruptly receded, revealing a corridor filled with elaborate mosaics and eerie skull-shaped sconces. She squinted into the dark but perceived no end to the hallway. A thick silence hung in the air, making her uncomfortably aware of her breathing. But it shattered before she could ponder it.
“Over here, Loulie.”
She saw him in the distance then, silhouetted in the blue light emitted by the candles: her father. Broad shouldered and tall, with deep-brown eyes that twinkled with permanent amusement. In one hand he held a lantern. With the other, he beckoned her closer.
“Baba?” Her heart thudded. Once. It can’t be. Twice. You’re dead.
She moved toward him in a daze. Or at least, she tried to. But every time she stepped forward, he appeared farther away. “Sweet Fire,” he called from a distance. “Come. Follow me.” He turned, and his robes—the same robes she wore as the Midnight Merchant—brushed the ground with the motion.
She hesitated. This was clearly a trick. She did not have time to chase mirages down dark corridors. She turned around, searching for the entrance—and saw only a dead end.
The sight filled her with exasperation. Wonderful.
“Hurry!” the phantom called. “Unpleasant things roam the dark, Sweet Fire.”
Sure enough, she became aware of shifting, of whispers in her ears. She suppressed a shudder and started walking. She began formulating a plan. Step one: avoid getting devoured by sentient darkness.
But while she could escape the dark, she could not run from the voices. The closer she drew to the mirage of her father, the louder they became. She gritted her teeth and touched her rings, focused on the burning at her fingertips. None of this is real. This is magic. This is…
Her father began to sing. “The stars, they burn the night and guide the sheikh’s way.”
Loulie startled. Where did she recognize that song from? The more she thought about it, the cloudier her mind became, until only the lyrics remained. The song filled her with warmth and longing. It made her feel like she was coming home.